Golden Healer

Puzzle Piece 3

PUZZLE PIECE 3

THE POSTMAN CALLS

Is this dream for real?

On this clowning nightmare night,

No one here but me,

I’m alone with this quiet,

Until a postman comes by.

It was rare to have the house to myself, but this Saturday I did. Mum and Dad were out for a late lunch. And I’d been listening to and playing music.

I heard them return home at around four pm. Shortly afterwards, I put down my guitar and ran downstairs to get my art book, which I’d left by the kitchen table.

Mum and Dad were in the kitchen, which is the hub of our house.

“Hi,” I said, greeting them with a smile. “How was your meal?”

“Tasty, but such small portions,” said Dad, as he opened the fridge door to steal some snacks and get himself a beer.

Mum shook her head and looked at Dad in amazement. She turned to me. “What did you have, Amelina? Something tasty?”

I smiled. “I didn’t make the toastie, Mum. Instead, I ordered pizza.”

Mum nodded, unsurprised.

“Any pizza left?” asked Dad, reopening the fridge as he rummaged inside again.

“You can’t still be hungry, Mark!” said Mum, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Not really, but someone might want a feast…”

Dad didn’t hang around – he dived right in. While Mum and I chatted, he stole the remains of the pizza to share with Toby.

Mum rolled her eyes with a look that said: Dad’s our fridge raider – we’re used to it.” She turned to me. “You OK? Did your practice go well?”

“I tried out some new songs.”

“I heard them as we came in the door.”

“Did you like them?”

“Sounded great. High volume! What about your art, any new pieces? Can I see?” Mum reached out to take a look at my art book.

I nodded and handed it to her.

“Oh, let’s see,” she said, turning the pages. “I love this one!”

She pointed to a simple drawing of a white cat staring out of a pink window at a blue mountain with birds flying away. The windows had pink bars, but no glass.

“That piece took me forever. The cat’s tail drove me mad!”

“Well, it looks perfect to me.”

“Aww, thanks. By the way, talking of cats, where has Shadow disappeared to?”

“Shadow is curled up by the washing machine. He chooses the oddest places to sleep. I’d better check what mischief Dad and Toby are getting up to,” said Mum as she went off to find them.

Mum’s prediction turned out to be right. Shadow was fast asleep, so I left him to snooze. With no charming Shadow to curl up with, I treated myself to a furry but not so cosy hot-water bottle and grabbed a book to read.

A sense of quiet seeped in, curling up, occupying the space by my side like a strange friend. The house and I snoozed. I kept drifting in and out of wakefulness and at one point I swear I heard, or dreamt I heard, a loud knock on the front door. No doorbell, just this rat-tat-tat.

Our house isn’t average, it’s large and goes on and on forever, reaching up to the heavens. At the top of the stairs, there’s this hexagonal hallway from which you can look out for intruders. From that vantage point, you can see who is by the front door. This is useful in case some weirdo comes calling. I’ve had my share of strange visitors, including the creature Eruterac, but I doubt it’s him. He doesn’t make house calls unless it’s Halloween, or my magical art called him into being… but that was a long time ago…

I snuggled under my covers, my eyes becoming heavy, until I succumbed to a dream-filled sleep…

In my dream, I saw myself leaning against the wooden rails of the hexagonal balcony on the first-floor landing. From there, I peered down, and saw a guy dressed in shorts poised, standing motionless with his clenched fist mid-air about to hammer on my front door. I’ve never seen this dude before. His free hand carried a parcel and his other hand hung suspended as if waiting for permission to knock.

I ran down to the ground floor and opened the door.

“Hi, I’ve a delivery for you,” he said as he offered the parcel to me.

I accepted the package and signed for it and, without replying, I shut the door on his curiosity.

The parcel had very little information on it. Just my name and address on the front and on the back a returns label that read: “Return to Clowns.”

There used to be a super-creepy but popular cafe called Clowns in the town centre in Cambridge, but it closed a while ago.

Placing the parcel on the kitchen table, I debated what to do with it. Open it, or try to?

I refocused on the parcel. There were many layers of thick brown paper, which I tore into with a mounting sense of unease until I discovered a box. What a joke. A plain white box. Or so I thought! I lifted the lid and inside I found a game of charades. The game had no maker’s name, but in a tiny corner of the lid’s interior I saw a motif: a Pierrot clown’s hat. As I looked more carefully, I saw little clown motifs everywhere, some of which were so tiny, it was almost impossible to see them. The sight of the game made my stomach churn with nausea.

Fleeting memories of our family’s unhappy past recurred in a muddle of crucifying thoughts. Whizzing me back in time to my 13th birthday, three years ago, when Mum, Dad, and I played a game of charades, just before my Dad disappeared. Dad had picked a card then. My heart skipped an unhappy beat when I remembered that time.

Returning to the box, there was a stack of cards, a die and a sandtimer. I picked up the cards and saw nothing unusual until four cards caught my eye: a clown, a grasshopper, a midsummer fly and a dragon with a pearl on its tongue. On the back of the clown card, it said: act a clown. But on the grasshopper, midsummer fly, and dragon cards there were no words printed; the backs of these cards were black. I stared at their rectangular blackness until my mind overflowed with the saddest thoughts until…

A tall clown appeared before me, then another and another. Each one was different from the last. They were short, stocky, lean, skinny, hefty, and fat. Their glowing white faces and over-painted red lips pressed towards me in the darkness.

“Go away!” I yelled.

I leant on the box, squashing the lid, hoping to make them disappear. As I did so, I heard terrible screeching sounds, followed by a continued silence as a thin black liquid flowed out of the box.

After that, I heard this tiny voice, an urging whisper, saying: “It’s OK to squash us, but don’t forget us. You must explore more – open the box and pick up the timer.”

“No!” I replied, fearful to do so.

“Do it, or we’ll come out again!”

With quivering hands, I opened the box but left the cards where they were. As I did so, the voice commanded me to lift the sandglass. I turned it upside down and watched the sand trickle. An intense yellow in colour, it flowed as if a strange force were holding it to the glass. I felt a growing sense of disquiet as I watched it. Suddenly, the granules of sand speeded up and turned rainbow-coloured until the last grain dropped to the bottom – black.

I heard a clown’s high-pitched laugh, and then I woke with an almighty jolt.